I pulled into the parking garage and slid into my usual spot on the third level. Not too close to the elevator, but close enough to avoid turning into a sweaty mess before making it inside. The bass in my car speakers thudded low, more like a heartbeat than a song at this point.
I let the music fade and turned the key, cutting the engine. For a moment, I just sat there in the stillness. The sunlight bounced off the glass office building across the street, and in the distance, brake lights blinked in slow, steady patterns. It wasn't anything fancy, but it was starting to feel familiar. And honestly? That didn't seem so bad.
I grabbed my laptop bag, double-checked my badge, and headed toward the elevator. Another day of emails, calendar invites, and that awkward shuffle around the coffee machine when two people reach for the same cup. It was all becoming a routine, but weirdly, I didn't mind it.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding. I stepped in and pressed the button for the 8th floor. A soft instrumental version of a pop song hummed through the speakers as the numbers ticked up.
Ding.
Floor 8: Operations & Analytics. Home sweet home.
The office looked the same as always. Rows of desks, low dividers, a few potted plants that were definitely on their last legs, and the lingering smell of over-brewed coffee. Natural light tried its best to make the space feel more cheerful, and someone already had a lo-fi playlist playing quietly near the back.
"Morning, you're early for once."
I turned to see Kenji leaning against my desk, nursing his third cup of coffee. The mug with the sarcastic "#1 Employee" print that he swore he hated, but never stopped using.
"I know. Call the press," I said, dropping my bag onto my chair.
He chuckled. "Don't get used to the praise. One more late login and IT's gonna assume you died."
"I'll leave a note next time," I muttered, logging in.
As Kenji wandered back to his part of the floor, I finally let out a slow breath. My monitor flickered to life, the usual clutter of open tabs and project files waiting for me. It had only been three weeks since I started here, and while the learning curve wasn't steep, the office politics definitely required a map and a flashlight.
Across from me, Lin slid into her seat, earbuds still in, hair tucked neatly behind one ear as she sipped from a tall, dented thermos she always brought. She gave me a small smile, one of those soft ones, like we shared an inside joke the world didn't get to hear.
"Made it in on time today?" she asked, voice just above a whisper.
"Barely," I grinned, adjusting my keyboard. "But I was here before Kenji started quoting Trake lyrics again, so I call that a win."
She laughed quietly and turned back to her screen, fingers already flying across the keys.
Our conversations were always short, but they stuck. Every day it felt like we were building a little world between us. Shared eye rolls during meetings, passing Post-it note doodles, synchronized coffee refills. Nothing dramatic. Just... easy.
My inbox had piled up overnight, which was pretty normal. I spent the next few hours jumping between spreadsheets, responding to project requests, and dodging two back-to-back team meetings with nothing but a polite nod and my camera turned off. Around noon, I finally pushed back from my desk and stretched.
By lunchtime, I finally leaned back in my chair and stretched. Coffee sounded good. Maybe even a snack if the vending machine had anything besides expired granola bars.
As I walked in, I saw Lin already standing near the counter, staring into the coffee pot like it had personally betrayed her.
"That bad?" I asked, nodding to the machine.
"It's... drinkable," she replied, pouring a cup. "If you pretend it's tea. Burnt tea."
"I'll take my chances," I said, grabbing a paper cup for myself.
We stood in silence for a moment, the kind that didn't feel heavy or awkward. Just a familiar quietness.
"You always doodle in your planner," I said suddenly. "Have you ever shown anyone your sketches?"
She glanced at me, surprised, then smiled softly. "Not really. It's just something I do to stay sane between meetings. Like little windows to somewhere else."
She pulled out her planner and flipped it open. The margins were filled with tiny sketches with cats, faces, and strange abstract patterns.
"They're really good," I said, meaning it.
"Thanks," she said softly. "I've been thinking about taking a class. Just to see what happens."
"You should, I think they'd look amazing in color."
She paused, her eyes holding mine for just a beat longer than usual. Then she nodded and slipped the planner back into her bag.
"We've got that ten o'clock meeting," she said, motioning toward the hallway. "Try not to doze off this time."
"I make no promises."
We walked back to our desks side by side, the steady hum of printers and keyboard clicks filling the space around us.
There weren't any fireworks. No dramatic declarations. Nothing straight out of a movie.
But it felt like something.
A rhythm.
And for the first time in a while, I found myself looking forward to tomorrow. Just to hear her laugh again. Maybe over another bad cup of coffee. Maybe with another new doodle.